


Five Times He Calls Her By Name

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric Tethras reserves real names for special occasions. He only ever calls her Cassandra five times. These are those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Sorrow

Seeker Pentaghast seldom shares her reasoning for big decisions, but as Leliana watches her she can tell there will be a field day on this particular one. Behind her, the dwarven writer Varric Tethras, known associate of the Champion and general pain in the ass, follows sullenly.

“You know, you could just give her the book.”

“Most Holy deserves to hear the story from the source. It is rather fantastical. My report certainly would not do it justice.”

Leliana presses her lips together in a hard line. “As long as you are sure,” she says finally. “You know how the Chantry feels about him.”

“That is precisely why I think Most Holy will want to hear it.”

He is quiet as they sit upon the deck. “I don’t suppose,” he says finally in a quiet voice, “someone has ink and parchment? I… I should let Daisy know I’m gone.”

“I gave you plenty of time to pack your things,” she says brusquely. 

“Please, Cassandra.”

The sound of her name, her real name on his tongue… it feels alien. Raw. She looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since her decision to take him across the sea. The grief is etched all over his face.

She rests a hand on his shoulder. “I will see what can be found,” she murmurs, “but I promise, you will come home soon. It is not goodbye.”

She does not know if that gives him heart, but he thanks her all the same.


	2. In Anger

Adamant crumbles, and their tentative respect dies with it.

She sits on the battlements, listening as he rails against the injustice of Hawke’s death.

“She died! She _died_ because of me!”

 _Liar_ , she thinks. _Tell him_. Cassandra does not move.

“And I can’t even mourn her properly, because this fucking Inquisition needs to keep going! I can’t go home and tell her loved ones, my friends, my family – I can’t go to them and tell them that I failed them, that I failed _her_ -”

“It is my fault,” she says, closing her eyes.

“Oh, don’t even start, Seeker -”

“I pushed. I have always pushed.” Her hands bunch into fists. “I pushed you to tell me where she was – I pushed you, made you hide her and keep her safe, and then I pushed away when you brought her here to help. I pushed her into helping because I – I agreed with her when she said she owed you that much.”

She can feel his gaze on her. “What?”

“I pushed the Inquisitor into following Hawke’s leads. I pushed you out of the rift before -” And here her voice catches, her eyes opening. “If I had not pushed, perhaps we might have – she might be -”

He stares at her as if he has never really seen her before. “You… you agreed with her? You thought she _owed_ me? You thought Hawke owed me _anything_ after all those stories I told you?” He shakes his head slowly. “You’re a real piece of work, Cassandra.”

She flinches at the name, but accepts the sentiment. “Yes. Because it is easy for me to be the bad person. Easier than watching good dwarves beat themselves up because they view themselves as unworthy.” She stands up, hesitating for a long moment. “Hawke saw the good in you,” she says finally. “She saw someone who had done so much for this world without any kindness back. I see what she saw, I see your worth and I would make you see it too if I could, and if blaming me stops you from blaming yourself… I will be the one who pushed.”

She does not look back as she leaves.


	3. In Passion

She had kissed Varric. She, being of sound mind, had kissed him. And he had not kissed her back – not, she realised afterwards, that she had given him much of a chance to. No, the minute her senses reclaimed her, she had stammered an apology and hightailed it out of there.

She does not quite know how it happened, but she is glad Halamshiral provides a distraction.

Still, between the revelations there is time to kill. She does not much care for it.

He surprises her. “Seeker.”

“Varric.”

“A word?”

She swallows. “Of course.”

He escorts her to a quiet balcony, only relaxing in the freedom of the night air as he loosens his collar. “I hate these uniforms.”

“Josephine,” she murmurs, staring out into the gardens. “Though I think she gave the final say to Vivienne.”

“I’m making small talk,” he realises aloud. “Andraste’s ass, I’m making small talk.”

She smiles slightly. “Maker forbid a writer fill the silence with conversation…”

“No, I…” He sighs, and she turns to look at him, frowning slightly at his nervous tension quite evident in his posture. “I didn’t mean to talk.”

“Oh?”

He reaches up to tug on the front of her uniform, pulling her down sharply and kissing her soundly. Her knees almost buckle at the sensation, only recovering as she pulls back with wide eyes.

“You – you _kissed_ me!”

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, well, you started it! And then you ran off, and then avoided me for three days – which, by the way, _everyone_ noticed, so I got harangued because they all naturally assumed I’d upset you, which made me think I _had_ upset you and _then_ I realised that despite everything, upsetting you is literally the _last_ thing I ever want to do -”

She silences him with another kiss, a clash of lips and teeth as her hands grasp for purchase across his shoulders, and the last of his sentence trails off into an appreciative moan as her body presses up against his.

“Cassandra,” he whispers, and something deep inside her throbs, fingers tightening around his jacket as she whimpers. “We need to – we can’t – not here -”

And he is right – they could not risk the reputation of the Inquisition, not tonight – but Maker, unfurling her hands from his hair is the most impossible thing she has done to date.

She straightens her uniform, and he slicks back his hair. Their eyes meet.

“We should -”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles, nodding. “Later?”

He bows slightly. “Of course.”

Later is wonderful – awkward glances and sheepish smiles and a spark that catches fire when his lips press against hers once more. Later is just the beginning.


	4. In Love

It comes in the quiet, a warm strength that had been there for some time finally given voice, and it sings in her heart.

“Varric?”

They spend their evenings together more often than not these days, and tonight was no exception – his head resting in her lap as he scribbles another letter to the Guild, her free hand teasing his hair as she reads from a book held aloft. But the book cannot take her mind off her feelings, and she rests it on the bedside table, waiting to get his attention.

He takes a few moments to finish his work, dropping everything off the side of the bed before straightening to smile at her. “What’s up, Seeker?”

“I need to… to tell you something. And I am not quite sure how to say it, other than to just say it.”

He reaches in, cupping her face in his hands as he presses a soft kiss to her lips. “So be direct. What’s bothering you?”

Taking a deep breath, she smiles. “I love you. I love the way your hands feel in mine. I love how your laugh makes me feel like I am home, how your smile gives me strength in my sorrow.” She laughs softly. “I even love you when you remind me of my worst moments. But I would not trade even one of them for the chance to try again, because they all led me to here – to this moment, with you.”

His thumb trails across her scar. “Oh.” Her name is a whisper, filling the small space between their lips. “Oh, Cassandra.”

She reaches up, cupping his cheek. “Varric, you are crying.”

“Yeah, well,” he laughs shakily, “it’s kind of a big moment for me, alright? Don’t tell anyone. I’ll never live it down.”

She moves just far enough to kiss the tear tracking down his face. “I love you.”

“You know the best thing about you? You never lie to me.” He takes in a shuddering breath. “Shit, you’ve _never_ lied to me, have you?”

“Varric?”

“When you said – you said I was –“ She can feel the effort that each word takes, the long-overdue thought processes taking their emotional toll on his body as he grapples with the ideas. “You said, a long time ago, that you saw something of worth in me that I couldn’t. And with everything else, I was so angry at you that I didn’t even question that. But… you really do.”

She kisses the next tear, whispering against his skin. “Always.”

They remain this way for some time, soft kisses and even softer words as he admits his fears and she presses her lips against his doubts, one by one. Their fingers trace love letters against skin, and in the growing evening he spells out his love for her in hushed whispers, heart full.


	5. In Parting

It is far too soon, and she is not there. She feels the regret building around her heart already.

“Varric!” She slides to the ground next to him, eyes taking in the scene. Blood – _his_ blood, Maker, _so much_ of his blood -

“Seeker.” His voice is weak, tired, worn through in a way she has not heard in years.

She presses against the wound, the blood filling the space between her fingers. “Just hold on, Varric.”

“Cassandra.”

Her hands still, looking up at his face finally. He is smiling - damn him, _damn_ him how could he be smiling at a time like this?

“I can’t feel it,” he says softly. “It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Stay with me,” she whispers.

“I want to. Andraste, believe me, I want to stay more than anything. But I don’t think I can. I’m barely here as it is.”

“Varric, please.”

Slow hands fumble for hers, tender and weak. She grips his as if holding tightly might keep him tethered to this world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I really am. I know how much it hurts to be left behind.”

“I love you.”

His smile widens, a tear breaking down his cheek. She cannot kiss these tears away, not when her own fall so readily. She is glad he feels nothing - she can feel everything and it might still kill her. “I know. Took me all my life to find someone who loved me back, but I got you in the end.”

“V-Varric -”

“I love you too, Seeker. More than anything in this life, I love you, and I always will.”

Her own tears threaten to drown out the world. “Please… please, Varric, do not leave me. Do not walk into the shadows without me.” Her hands squeeze his. “I cannot follow you there,” she whispers. “Do not go.”

His body shudders, and she can only watch helplessly as he succumbs to the fits that wrack him. He manages a last gasped parting, the blood bubbling from his lips.

“Tell them - tell - was a g-good - s-s-s- _story_ -” 

And then he stills, eyes wide as they stare up into the sky. She lets out a cry, a guttural sob wrenched from her body as she pleads against everything holy for another moment, another breath with him. But there is nothing left to give, and as her hands curl in his and her head rests shaking on his chest, she feels nothing but loss in her heart.


End file.
